Yet another Troy

you gave to me a wooden horseno skin of steel, no men insidea children’s toy that in due coursewould lose its magical delight

the day has come to join the forceand to the battlefield we stridewith all we have: the grave remorsethat here we rock where we should ride

why this ridicule, this pitiful defeat?your gift played its deceitful role hear, there speaks the dying steed:

‘you had no chance, my little foalthat’s why he sent his finest breedbut not to combat, to console’

I don’t usually write in English – I feel not comfortable with my English proficiency to express myself as I would in my native language. I believe translating literary texts is a craft not to be underestimated. But I still like this little sonnet, that I wrote about ten years ago, when I spoke English on a daily basis at university.